


The Boyfriend Experience

by niniblack



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Dubious Consent, Hooker AU, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, hooker Laurent, lawyer Damen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2020-12-14 16:03:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21018485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niniblack/pseuds/niniblack
Summary: Damen follows Laurent into the elevator and says, “I’ve never done this before.”“Never hooked up in a hotel?”“Never paid for it.”“The mechanics are the same,” Laurent says. He leans up onto his toes, one hand on Damen’s chest, until his lips are brushing Damen’s cheek, and adds, “I’m sure you know what to do.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's the hooker au that I've been talking about, oh, forever! 
> 
> I'm using choose not to warn, but this fic is full of knives! I'll include warnings at the start of each chapter and more spoilery warnings at the end. If you want more details just send me a note here, on tumblr ([@niniblack](https://niniblack.tumblr.com/)) or on twitter ([@niniblack_](https://twitter.com/niniblack_)) and I'll do my best to let you know what you're in for.
> 
> TW: dubious consent.

The car that pulls up along the sidewalk is sleek and black, with windows tinted so dark they blend into the doors. Laurent doesn’t move from his spot a few feet away, leaning against the wall of the nearest building. He crosses one ankle over the over, hands stuffed deep in his pockets. The brick is cold even through his coat.

The back passenger window of the car rolls down, and a gruff voice says, “Get in.”

Laurent makes a point of not rushing to walk towards the car. The window rolls up as he opens the door and slides in, and he waits until he’s shut the door again before saying, “A street corner? Really?”

His uncle taps a knuckle against the dividing glass that hides the driver from view before answering. “It seemed like a place you might be comfortable. I can’t have you seen hanging around my office.”

“Why?” Laurent asks. “They all know who I am.”

“They also think you’re a student.” Uncle holds out a thin file folder, effectively ending the conversation.

Laurent flips the folder open and catches the photo that nearly falls out. It’s a selfie of a smiling man, with dark olive skin and a halo of messy, curly hair. “What’s his name?”

“It’s in the file.”

“Reading in the car makes me nauseous.”

Uncle bites off an annoyed sound, and says, “Damianos Akielos. He’s heir to the Akielos Law Group.”

“Someone suing you again?” Laurent asks, eyes already on the papers in the file, skimming. There’s not much there, just bits and pieces taken from social media profiles. Age: twenty-six. Currently works as an associate attorney at Akielos Law Group. Previously worked as a fitness instructor at Ascend Fitness. There are a couple more photos, two of them with the same blonde woman hanging off Damianos’ arm. He holds one up. “This isn’t another straight guy, is it?”

Uncle glances over out of the corner of his eye, then says, “Don’t worry. He likes blonds.”

Laurent puts the photo back.

“I want to know what kind of evidence they think they have,” Uncle says.

“Did you accidently leave a trail of your corrupt business dealings?”

“Find out why they think their case is so strong. They’re acting too cocky about it, so they must have something they’re holding on to.”

“Any hints?” Laurent asks.

“It relates to a trade deal we helped broker in Africa.”

Laurent raises an eyebrow. “That sounds perfectly legitimate when you say it that way. I can’t imagine why anyone is suing you over it.”

Uncle doesn’t look amused.

The car jerks to a stop, and Laurent looks out the window to find that they’re downtown, across the street from a hotel. “He’s staying here?”

“He lives in town. I had someone follow him to the bar.”

“That someone couldn’t keep following him until _ they _ got your answers?”

Uncle reaches a hand across the center of car and rests it on Laurent’s knee, fingers squeezing. “That’s what I have you for.”

Laurent can’t quite hide how his body stiffens at the touch. “I need some money,” he says, trying to ignore the heat from his uncle’s hand that seeps through the fabric of his pants.

He glances up and catches the way Uncle’s eyes narrow. “I just gave you some last week.”

Uncle had also taken everything Laurent had earned last week as rent payment, but he knows that mentioning that won’t help. “Yes, well, it turns out the human body requires food every week, so I need more.”

“Go earn it then.” Uncle’s fingers squeeze tighter, before letting go. As Laurent climbs out of the car he adds, “I expect to hear from you first thing tomorrow.”

Laurent swings the door shut just a little too hard to be an accident.

\- - -

The hotel bar looks the same as every other upscale hotel bar Laurent has been in. Damianos is easy to spot, seated at the end of the bar, hunched over, and staring at the muted television on the wall. There’s no coat hook, so Laurent shrugs his coat off and spreads it over the barstool before sitting down. The stool scraps against the floor loudly as he scoots it up to the bar, but Damianos doesn’t look over.

“What can I get you?” the bartender asks.

“Vodka and soda,” Laurent says. Not that he plans on drinking it; drinking on the job is perfectly acceptable in his line of work, but he prefers to keep a level head.

It doesn’t take long to get his drink, and he carefully brushes his elbow against Damianos’ arm as he reaches forward to swirl the straw in the glass.

Damianos does glance over then, just a quick dart of his eyes, but Laurent makes sure to catch his eye. “Hockey fan?” he asks, tilting his head to indicate the muted hockey game on the television.

“What?” Damianos says. He looks at the television, then back at Laurent, expression confused. “Oh, no, uh… I wasn’t really paying attention to what was on.” He lifts his glass – whiskey – and takes a sip, making a slight face as he does.

Laurent smiles. “Not a whiskey drinker either?”

Damianos looks sheepish. “Am I that obvious?”

“Most people don’t grimace as they drink it.” Laurent raises his own glass to his lips, taking a tiny sip, and licking his lips as he sets it back down.

Damianos follows the motion with his gaze. “I’m more of a beer drinker,” he says.

“What’s the occasion then?”

Damianos just shrugs, so Laurent tries asking, “Are you in town on business?”

“Uh, no. I’m not… I’m not staying here. At the hotel, I mean. I live here.”

Laurent almost feels like laughing at how easy of a mark Damianos is. Instead, he waits, and Damianos keeps talking.

“I just came here for a drink. I figured I wouldn’t run into anyone I know at a hotel.”

Laurent raises an eyebrow, rather than voicing the question.

“It’s a long story,” Damianos says. 

“You look like you could use someone to tell it to,” Laurent says.

Damianos looks at him consideringly. “Are you offering?”

Laurent smiles. “I’m sure you could make it worth my while.”

\- - -

Later, after Damianos – who tells Laurent to call him _ Damen _ – has gone through two more whiskeys while relaying the actually not that long of a story about his girlfriend cheating on him with his brother, he follows Laurent into the elevator and says, “I’ve never done this before.”

“Never hooked up in a hotel?”

“Never paid for it.”

“The mechanics are the same,” Laurent says. He leans up onto his toes, one hand on Damen’s chest, until his lips are brushing Damen’s cheek, and adds, “I’m sure you know what to do.”

Damen turns his head and his lips meet Laurent’s. The kiss is chaste at first, just a press of dry lips together, then Laurent licks at Damen’s bottom lip and the next thing he knows Damen’s hand is at the small of his back, pushing their hips together, and Damen’s tongue is in his mouth, enthusiastically pressing against his own.

The ding of the elevator interrupts then, and Laurent pulls away, stepping towards the doors.

Once they're in the room Damen seems unsure again. He perches on the edge of the bed and asks, “So, are there rules or anything?”

“Rules?”

“Y’know, like no kissing. Oh, except we just–”

Laurent laughs lightly. “You've seen too many movies,” he says. “Why would I fuck you but not kiss you?”

Damen shrugs.

“The only rule,” Laurent tells him, “is that you have to pay first.”

There are other rules, of course, but they’re for Laurent himself. Number one is the money. Always get the money first. Number two is safety – always have a condom and an exit strategy. Which means no bondage, unless the client is the one tied up. And number three: figure out what the client wants and deliver it as quickly as possible. He charges by the hour usually, unless it’s one of the clients his uncle has set up for him, but this still holds true.

Damen, he's already figured out, wants a rebound fuck. His pride is injured over his girlfriend cheating, and he wants to feel like he's still attractive and desirable. He wants to be told it's not his fault that she cheated, that she's a whore and nothing he did made her do it and he deserves better. It's an easy desire to fulfill. And unlike most of Laurent’s clients, Damen actually _ is _ attractive. He’s tall and broad and has biceps that strain against his jacket and a five o’clock shadow that only serves to enhance his chiseled jawline. Laurent doesn’t have to fake thinking that Damen’s good looking.

He wonders if his uncle knew about the cheating girlfriend, or if it’s just good luck that he sent Laurent after Damen today.

Damen digs into his pocket for his wallet, and passes over the crisp bills he’d gotten from the ATM downstairs for just this purpose. Laurent knows how much he told Damen to withdraw, but he still takes a minute to count and make sure it's all there before tucking the bills into his pocket.

With that taken care of, Laurent starts unbuttoning his shirt. He makes quick work of taking it off, followed by his undershirt, before toeing out of his shoes and starting on his pants. Damen watches him from his spot on the bed, not moving to take off any of his own clothes. He still doesn’t say anything when Laurent is standing naked in front of him, instead staring with his lips slightly parted, eyes moving like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to look.

Laurent holds back a sigh. This is apparently one of the nights that he’s going to have to do all the work.

“Like what you see?” he asks, walking towards the bed and raising one leg, resting his knee alongside Damen’s thigh.

“You’re very… attractive,” Damen says.

Laurent’s not sure what to make of that. At this point most clients are going out of their way to tell Laurent how beautiful he is, and all he gets from Damen is a reluctant admission that he’s attractive.

Laurent climbs fully onto the bed, straddling Damen’s lap, and holding onto his shoulders for balance. Damen’s hands go to his waist, fingers splayed low over the top of Laurent’s ass.

Laurent leans down, lips nearly brushing against Damen’s, and says, “You still haven’t told me what you want.”

Damen tilts his head up, mouth opening against Laurent’s. His hold on Laurent’s waist tightens as they kiss. Laurent licks his way into Damen’s mouth, deepening the kiss the same way Damen had done in the elevator.

Laurent’s not expecting Damen to roll them over, and he lands on the bed with an oof that’s quickly silenced by Damen kissing him again. Damen’s holding himself up on his elbows, hovering, but Laurent suddenly feels very aware of Damen’s size. Damen could easily crush him, hold him down. Laurent’s not sure he could even wrap both hands around Damen’s bicep.

Damen pulls back, still balanced above Laurent, and says, “Is this alright?”

“Of course,” Laurent says. He takes the opportunity to prop himself up on his elbows, gaining back a bit of height. Damen leans back. “You’re a bit over-dressed though, don’t you think?”

Damen sits up, tugging at his shirt to pull it over his head. Laurent sits up so that he can reach Damen’s pants and starts on his belt and fly. His hand brushes against Damen’s cock, already hard, and he squeezes through the fabric before pulling down the zipper. He shoves Damen’s pants and boxers down with a quick jerk, and can’t hide his surprise.

“Like what you see?” Damen asks, with a smirk, echoing Laurent’s question.

Laurent glances up at him. “Well, you’re certainly proportional.”

He immediately wonders if he should have said something different, something more complementary. Maybe Damen wants to hear he has the biggest cock Laurent has ever seen – he might, actually, but that’s beside the point.

Damen laughs though, and stumbles back onto his feet in order to get his pants the rest of the way off. Laurent finds himself smiling back at him, hoping it doesn’t look as tentative as it feels.

Once undressed, Damen climbs back onto the bed, guiding Laurent back until he winds up lying against the pillows. Damen lowers his head and Laurent’s expecting another kiss, but instead Damen’s nose brushes along his jaw, then his lips press a quick kiss against Laurent’s neck, then another, longer one, teeth grazing the skin.

Laurent tilts his head to the side to give him better access. Most clients don’t want to kiss him like this, but some like leaving marks. Laurent usually tries to stop them before it’s something that will last longer than a few hours, because the next client never likes seeing evidence of someone else having been there before. When Damen’s lips latch onto the skin at his throat, Laurent tangles his hand in Damen’s curly hair and directs his mouth back up, towards his mouth, and bites at Damen’s bottom lip.

Damen kisses him, rough at first to match Laurent’s bite, but then more gently, before pulling back. He stares down at Laurent, eyes darting over his face before locking gazes with him, and smiles brightly. “You’re gorgeous,” he says.

Well, that’s better than the tentative _ you’re attractive _ he’d gotten before, at least. “So are you,” Laurent says, echoing back the praise.

Damen sits up, kneeling between Laurent’s spread legs, and rubs a palm over Laurent’s thigh. Damen’s cock is hard, bobbing between his legs, and he’s clearly noticed that Laurent isn’t because he reaches for him, fingers teasing at Laurent’s balls and then circling the base of his cock, squeezing before he starts stroking.

Laurent tries to focus on the sensation, on just the feel of someone else’s hand on his cock, someone else – someone attractive, at that – above him, pressing into him. He closes his eyes, lets himself float on it a bit. Taking himself out of the actual situation is the only way he can ever get aroused by it, and he wishes, not for the first time, that he could just fake it. Damen is the type that cares if Laurent is into it though. Damen needs to feel wanted, desired, which means he needs to see Laurent hard for him. At least a first, before Damen gets lost in his own pleasure and stops paying attention.

Laurent opens his eyes and finds Damen staring at him. 

Damen offers him a smile. “Are you alright?” he asks.

“Keep doing that and I will be,” Laurent says. “You’re very good with your hands.”

One of Damen’s hands slides down, over Laurent’s balls and along the curve of his ass. “I can be even better with my hands.” Laurent shifts his hips, and Damen’s fingers move, the tip of one tracing over his hole. He circles it like that, dry, then says, “Please tell me there’s lube somewhere in this room.”

“In my coat pocket,” Laurent says. “Condoms too.”

Damen kisses him again, then gets up to retrieve the supplies. That’s normally Laurent’s job, and he feels a bit awkward, left lying on the bed while he watches Damen pick up his coat. “Left pocket,” Laurent says, not wanting Damen to go searching through the rest of it.

Damen tosses the small tube of lube onto the end of the bed, but puts the condoms that he finds in Laurent’s pocket back and goes over to his own discarded pants to fish out his wallet. He has a condom tucked inside that he returns with.

“What was wrong with mine?” Laurent asks, even as he spreads his legs to make room for Damen to kneel between them.

“None of them were, err, big enough,” Damen says, a blush showing even on his dark complexion.

Laurent stares at him for a moment, then looks back down at Damen’s cock. “I’ll be sure to start stocking the mail order only sizes,” he says. 

That startles a laugh out of Damen. “I bought this at the drug store,” he argues.

“For a cock that’s wider than my wrist? I didn’t think there was enough demand to keep that on the shelf.”

“Maybe they special order it for me.”

“So we’re back to mail order,” Laurent says, nodding. “I’ll have to check the speciality websites; that doesn’t seem like the sort of thing they have on Amazon.” Damen’s grinning at him, and Laurent presses his lips together, fighting a grin himself. “Good thing you carry one in your wallet.”

“Old habit from college,” Damen admits, shrugging one shoulder. 

He sets the condom to the side and uncaps the lube, squeezing some out onto his fingers. Laurent starts to turn over, but Damen’s other hand comes down on his hip to hold him in place. “No, you’re fine,” he says. “Just, lift your leg.”

Damen’s hand slides down his thigh, touch feathery light and raising goosebumps in its wake, and presses behind Laurent’s knee, helping him lift it towards his chest. His other hand, slick with lube now, returns to where it was before he’d left the bed, finger trailing over Laurent’s hole. “This is alright?” Damen asks.

Laurent nods. Damen’s finger presses against him more insistently, and Laurent pushes his ass back into it. “Come on,” he says. “I want you inside me, Damen.”

Damen fingers him open slowly. So slowly, and so carefully, that Laurent wonders if Damen thinks he’s a virgin or something. “You can add another,” he tells Damen, just after he’s added a second, and Damen blinks down at him like he’s not sure Laurent is telling the truth. Laurent doesn’t have much leverage, with one leg up in the air, but uses the other to plant his foot on the bed and move his hips, fucking himself on Damen’s fingers. “I want more,” he tells him, pitching his voice to be just a bit higher.

Damen gives him another finger. Then he does something, crooking them a bit, and his fingers hit Laurent’s prostate and _ oh_, no one ever does that. Laurent doesn’t have to fake the shaky inhale of breath as Damen hits it again, and a burst of pleasure spikes in Laurent’s belly, hot and fierce. His cock is fully hard now, and he feels the urge to shift his hips as Damen pulls his fingers nearly all the way out again, to chase after that full feeling.

“That’s–” Laurent starts to say. Damen moves his hand again, and the words hitch in Laurent’s chest. “That’s enough.”

Damen’s eyes find his. “You sure?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m sure.” Laurent squirms a bit, and Damen pulls his hand away, sliding slick across Laurent’s ass before he wipes it on the sheet.

Damen lets Laurent’s leg drop as tears open the condom and rolls it on, then he’s back, lifting both of Laurent’s legs up to rest his ankles on his shoulders. It’s not Laurent’s favorite position; he has no leverage like this. It leaves him just lying there. Damen’s going to be doing all the work. But Damen doesn’t seem like he minds, he seems to like being in control and manhandling Laurent around to where he wants him, so Laurent goes with it.

Damen sinks into him slowly, like he’s waiting for Laurent to adjust as he goes. He’s thicker than his fingers had been, and the stretch burns, but Laurent’s used to it and forces himself to relax, to take it. He closes his eyes, breathing harder, but that’s more for show than anything. Damen’s petting his arm, murmuring sweet nothings about how well Laurent is taking it and how good he feels and how gorgeous he looks.

Laurent blinks his eyes open. Damen is watching him closely. “Okay?” Damen asks.

“I’m no– You’re not going to break me,” Laurent says.

“Just making sure,” Damen says.

Laurent resists rolling his eyes. He wonders if he should say something about how big Damen is, but decides not to. He’s already put on enough of a show of having a hard time taking his cock. Damen’s waiting for something though, and it takes Laurent a minute to realize it’s permission. “You can fuck me now,” he says. Then, after a pause, adds, “Please Damen, I need you to move,” and shifts, trying to fuck himself on Damen’s cock.

Damen’s eyes have gone wide. He pulls out about halfway, before thrusting in again, and Laurent doesn’t even have to fake the sharp exhale it pushes out of him. He reaches out, gripping Damen’s arm with one hand and a fistful of the sheets with the other, as Damen sets up a rhythm. He’s slow, but strong, and Laurent is folded nearly in half, left to do nothing but take it.

Then Damen runs his hand over Laurent’s ass. Laurent thinks he’s going to spank him or something, and tenses, but Damen just lifts him a bit, changing the angle, and the next thrust in hits Laurent’s prostate and has him gasping out a louder, “_Oh! _” as it sends a spike of arousal straight to his cock.

Damen keeps hitting that angle, and it’s all Laurent can do to hold on. “Touch yourself,” Damen gasps out. Laurent looks up at him, and Damen’s face is a bit red with exertion, sweat beading at his temples. He’s holding Laurent’s lower half up off the bed, basically, while working his hips. Laurent’s not used to be the one lying back.

He’s also not used to be being this turned on, during sex. His cock is red and flushed, smearing precome across his stomach with each thrust of Damen’s cock into his ass. It’s never… like this.

Laurent fists his own cock, the perfunctory touches he knows work for him, and combined with the full drag of Damen’s cock inside him, the intermittent brush over his prostate sending that coil of arousal in his gut higher and higher. But it’s not until Damen lets go of Laurent’s leg, and raises his hand to brush his fingers over Laurent’s cheek, tracing over his lower lip lightly, that Laurent sucks in a breath and comes, spending messily all over his own stomach.

Damen groans, watching him closely, and fucks him through it, thrusts speeding up as he nears his own end. He shudders with it, and folds his body forward over Laurent’s, foreheads touching. Their warm breaths mingling as they both try to get their breathing back under control.

Laurent’s back protests the positions after only a minute, and he makes a small noise, raising his hands to try and ease Damen back off of him.

“Sorry,” Damen says, sitting back. His softening cock slides free, and then he flops forward onto his stomach beside Laurent, one arm thrown across Laurent’s chest, and his face buried in the pillow. He turns his head a bit to look at Laurent. “Goddamn,” he mutters.

Laurent stretches his legs back out, and runs a finger through the mess on his stomach. That’s… new. He rarely ever comes with a client, and most are paying attention to their own pleasure and don’t notice. Damen had been so focused on Laurent though, he supposes it shouldn’t be a surprise. But it is.

He slips out from beneath Damen, stumbling a bit as he stands up and heads towards the bathroom.

Damen flings out a hand toward him. “Hey, don’t go.”

Laurent glances back at him. “I’ll be right back.”

In the bathroom he cleans up and tries to shake off whatever feeling the orgasm has raised in him. His body is feeling relaxed, which is making his brain nervous. It’s an unpleasant dichotomy.

When he comes back Damen has flipped onto his back and discarded the condom. Laurent sits on the edge of the bed and passes him a wet cloth, which Damen takes with a mumbled thanks.

“Lie down,” Damen says, reaching for him again.

“You’re a cuddler, aren’t you?” Laurent says.

Damen’s grin is a bit dopey. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. Come on.”

Laurent glances at the clock. Technically Damen has paid for another thirty minutes. If he wants to spend it cuddling, well, it’s hardly the worst thing Laurent’s ever been asked to do. He lies down on his back, arranging his hands over his chest. Damen snakes an arm under Laurent’s shoulders and pulls him closer, until Laurent’s head is resting on his shoulder.

It’s not comfortable, Laurent tells himself, even as he relaxes, turning in towards Damen a bit further.

Damen twirls a strand of Laurent’s hair around his finger. “Your hair is really soft.”

Laurent laughs. “Thanks,” he says, wryly.

“I mean it,” Damen says.

“You just like blonds.” He realizes as soon as he’s said that he shouldn’t have. Damen hasn’t mentioned anything along those lines tonight and Laurent only knows it because Uncle told him.

“Well, yeah… I guess,” Damen says, apparently oblivious to Laurent’s slip. “But you’d be gorgeous even if you weren’t blond.”

“Want me to dye my hair then?”

“No,” Damen says quickly.

Laurent laughs again, and finds himself relaxing even more, one leg tangling between Damen’s. He traces a finger over Damen’s chest, along the lines of his – goddamn him – chiseled pectoral muscles. It’s unfair for someone to have the kind of muscles Damen has. He’s supposed to have a desk job. Laurent wonders how much time he spends in the gym.

“So what do you normally do?” Damen asks.

“Normally?”

“Do you have a day job?”

Laurent thinks about it for a moment. The answer is no, he doesn’t. On nights he works he spends a good portion of the day catching up on sleep. He’s not really qualified for most ‘day jobs’. “I work at the library,” he says. Which is a lie, but only a small one. He does spend a good portion of his time at the big library downtown. It’s old enough to not be completely overtaken with computers, and has the kind of stacks one can still get a bit lost in.

“I didn’t peg you as a librarian,” Damen says. Laurent tilts his head back to find him smiling. “Do you shush people all the time?”

“Only when they need to be shushed.”

Damen laughs.

Laurent takes the opportunity to ask his earlier question. “What about you? Do you spend all your time lifting weights?”

Damen looks pleased at the question, flexing the arm that’s wrapped around Laurent, and Laurent immediately regrets feeding his ego by asking. “Not all of it,” Damen says. “I work at my dad’s company. Pretty boring stuff. But I used to be a trainer.”

Laurent remembers that from the file his uncle had given him. “Why did you stop?”

Damen shrugs. “I decided I needed to stop messing around and be serious about the company. I’m supposed to inherit it one day. I figured I owed it to all the people working there to know what I’m doing when that happens.”

Laurent doesn’t say anything, just makes a small agreeable noise in response. He trails his fingers over Damen’s stomach, and lets his eyes drift closed, just for a minute.

“I don’t think I’m very good at it,” Damen says, after a long pause. Laurent opens his eyes again and glances up to find Damen staring at the ceiling, a thoughtful look on his face. “My brother’s better at that kind of thing. He’s been working there longer. He keeps telling me I ought to just give it up and find something I’m actually good at.”

“The same brother who stole your girlfriend?”

Damen sighs. “Yeah.”

“I’m not sure I’d trust his advice,” Laurent says. “He sounds like an asshole.”

“He’s actually a really nice guy,” Damen insists.

“If you say so,” Laurent says. “What does the company do then?”

“Nothing that you’d find interesting.”

“Try me.”

Damen shifts a bit, arm tightening around Laurent. “It’s a law firm. Mostly corporate cases.”

“You’re a lawyer then?” Laurent asks, trying to steer the conversation towards the information his uncle wants. “What kind of cases do you work on?”

“Boring ones,” Damen says. “Right now we’ve got this guy who bribed a bunch of government officials in Nigeria over export taxes.”

“Nigeria, huh,” Laurent says.

“Told you, it’s boring.”

“Do you have enough to convict him?”

Damen shrugs the shoulder that Laurent isn’t lying on. “We’ll see,” he says. “We’re not really in the conviction business. We’re just handling the class action suit that’s been brought against him.”

“Are you going to win though?”

“Probably. He didn’t exactly cover his tracks.”

Laurent wonders if that’s enough information for his uncle. Probably not. It never is. It’s likely all that he’s going to get out of Damen without tipping him off though.

Laurent’s eyes drift closed again. Just for a minute, he tells himself. He’s just resting his eyes for a minute, and then he needs to get up and get out of here. Damen’s time is surely up by now.

There’s a press of lips against his forehead, and a tightening of the arm wrapped around him, just before he drifts off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Laurent and Damen have sex, but Laurent views it as "work" and is doing so because his uncle told him to.


	2. Chapter 2

Damen wakes up alone.

Laurent’s long gone, leaving at some point in the middle of the night without even a note. Damen’s not sure why he feels like there should have been one, like Laurent should have woken him up and said goodbye. Damen had paid him and Laurent had let him Damen fuck him in exchange and that was how hiring a prostitute worked. As he leaves checks out of the hotel in last night’s wrinkled clothes, he feels like everyone who sees him knows exactly what he did last night.

When he gets home Nikandros is in the kitchen, drinking coffee. He raises an eyebrow at Damen’s unkempt appearance. “Where’ve you been?”

“Out,” Damen says.

“I can see that.”

Nikandros has made a pot of coffee, thankfully. Damen pours himself a cup, adds creamer, and take a long drink before he says, “Did you know Jokaste was cheating on me?”

Nik coughs as he takes a too big sip of his coffee. Damen just watches him.

“I wasn't sure,” Nik admits. “But I suspected.”

“And you didn't think to mention it to me?”

Nik gives him a level look. “Would you have listened?”

Damen sighs, staring into the bottom of his coffee mug. No, he wouldn't have. He just would have gotten angry with Nik for suggesting it.

“How did you find out?” Nik asks.

“I walked in on her fucking Kastor at work yesterday.”

Nik’s eyes are wide in surprise. “I, uh… didn’t think it was Kastor.”

Damen doesn’t say anything. He can’t believe it either. His relationship with Kastor has been strained for a while now – maybe even as far back as when they were children, if Damen thinks about it – but Damen never expected him to cheat with his girlfriend. Two people he’d trusted, who’ve both betrayed him.

He’s not sure what to do about it yet.

“That sucks man,” Nik says.

Damen just nods, leaning against the counter to drink his coffee.

“Where were you all night then?”

Damen tries to think of the best way to say he paid for a hooker. A really hot, expensive, fantastic in bed hooker, who had been oddly sweet, and had seemed surprised every time Damen touched him gently, but a hooker all the same. He can't tell Nik, he knows. Nik is a cop, and works vice, and if he knew the truth he’d have to arrest Damen for solicitation. Which would throw a wrench in the friendship they've had since they met in elementary school.

He settles on saying, “I hooked up with a guy at a bar.”

“Well, you got the rebound out of the way fast then,” Nik says.

Damen shrugs. He’s not sure he did, really, because he hasn't been able to stop thinking about Laurent all morning. Not the sex, as great as that had been. No, he keeps thinking about the conversation at the bar, the easy flirting and the way Laurent laughed when Damen made a bad joke – which might have been part of an act to get Damen to pay up, he can admit. The quiet questions as they lay together after were harder to fake. Laurent falling asleep in his arms wasn’t fake.

“Yeah,” he says. “I guess.”

\- - -

Damen debates calling in sick to work, but ultimately gets himself showered, dressed, and on his way only an hour later than usual.

Kastor schedules a meeting with him and Damen thinks,  _ Oh, so that's how we're doing this _ .

“Look,” Kastor says, as soon as the door closes. “I didn't mean–”

“To fuck my girlfriend?” Damen asks. “Did you just trip and fall on her with your dick out?”

Kastor looks like he's biting his tongue. “I didn't mean for you to find out that way.”

“How was I supposed to find out then?”

“Jokaste was going to talk to you and–”

“Did you two rehearse this? Come up with some story about how you never meant to hurt me but you just fell in love?”

Kastor frowns, but doesn't answer. Instead he says, “There's another matter I need to discuss with you.”

“More important than you betraying me?”

“It’s about your current case,” Kastor says.

“The Nigerian tax fraud?”

“Yes.” He leans against his desk, motioning for Damen to take one of the chairs in front of it.

Damen sits.

“We’re taking you off the case,” Kastor says.

“You’re…” Damen stops himself, trying to think of what to say. Nothing comes to him. 

He suddenly regrets sitting, since it means Kastor is looking down at him.

“We’ve got a few other associates who have more experience with this type of tax evasion,” Kastor explains.

”No, we don’t,” Damen argues. “I’ve been working on this for months. Anyone else is going to be playing catch-up and it goes to court in three weeks.”

“We’ll find you another case,” Kastor says.

Damen frowns. “You’re taking me off my only case and you don’t have a new one for me?”

“Not yet,” Kastor says. “I’m sure we will soon,” he continues, before Damen can try to interrupt and ask him what the fuck he thinks he’s doing. “In the meantime, why don’t you take a break? Think of it as a vacation.”

“A vacation.”

Kastor nods.

“Are you  _ firing _ me?”

“No! No, of course not. Can’t fire the boss’ son, can we?” He smiles but keeps going before Damen do more than open his mouth to respond to that. “This case is just complicated and needs our most experienced people on it. I’m sure you understand.”

Damen thinks he’s starting to understand, but he’s not liking the picture that’s taking form. “Does Dad know about this?”

Kastor leans back against the desk, arms crossed. “It was his decision.”

Damen stands up, drawing his shoulders back in a way that he know makes him look even taller than he is. Kastor stands up straight in response, but he’s still a couple inches shorter. “I’m going to go talk to him,” Damen says.

Kastor waves a hand at the door. “Go ahead.”

Damen gets pretty much the same response from his father when he finally gets a chance to talk to him. His protests fall on deaf ears, and his father promises that they’ll have a new case he can work on soon. Kastor’s been working here for nearly a decade longer than Damen, and their father trusts him more when it comes to these types of decisions. He winds up back at his desk, staring at his laptop without really seeing it. Everyone else is either running around or hunched over their computers, working frantically. He watches them for a bit, feeling out of place with nothing to work on himself, before shoving his chair back and standing up. There’s no point to sitting here. As infuriating as it is, Kastor is right. He should just treat it like a break or vacation.

\- - -

Three days later Nikandros confronts him at breakfast. “You can’t sit on the couch again today,” he says, mouth half full of toast.

Damen gestures at the kitchen table he’s currently sitting at. “This isn’t the couch.”

Nik swallows. “You know what I mean,” he says. “You’ve been moping.”

“I got fired.”

“No you didn’t.”

“What do you call being told not to come to work anymore?” Damen asks.

“A weird thing your family does,” Nik says. “You need to get out of the house,” he continues. “Go do something today. Go for a run or to a bar or  _ something _ .”

“I went to the gym yesterday,” Damen points out.

“And then you came back here and ate take-out.” Nikandros finishes off his toast and downs his coffee. As he heads towards the door he says, “I’m serious, go out and do something. Find that guy you rebounded with and go for round two. I don’t care. Just quit leaving an imprint of your ass on the sofa.”

Nik is out the door before Damen can respond.

A few hours later finds him at his third library within the past hour. Damen’s decided to take Nikandros’ suggestion of finding Laurent again seriously, but he doesn’t have a phone number or address, and he doubts that Laurent frequents bars in the middle of the day. He’d said he worked at the library, but hadn’t specified which one, so Damen’s been trying all of them and asking the front desk if someone named Laurent works there. So far he’s only gotten no’s and raised eyebrows.

This is the last library he’s going to, he tells himself. And not just because it’s the last one in town and the next nearest is an hour’s drive away. If Laurent doesn’t work at this one then he’s going to take it as a sign and give this up. It’s crazy that he’s gone all over town trying to find a librarian who moonlights as a hooker as it is.

He flashes his best smile at the woman currently manning the front desk. “Hi,” he says. “I don’t suppose you know Laurent? He told me he works here.”

She frowns. “What’s his last name?”

Damen tries to look sheepish. It’s not far off from how he feels. “I actually don’t know.”

Now she’s raising her eyebrows. Great. “There’s no one named Laurent that works here,” she says.

Damen sighs. Of course not. He’s not sure why he thought this would work. Laurent had probably lied to him anyway. What kind of librarian is also a hooker?

He’s already turned away when the woman calls after him, “Hey wait! Is he blond?”

Damen spins around. “Yes. Yes he is. About this tall.” He holds out a hand to gesture. “Blue eyes.” Great ass, he doesn’t say.

“Oh, I know who you’re looking for. He doesn’t work here though. He just comes in every other day.”

Damen wonders why Laurent lied about that. “Does he come in at a specific time?” he asks. 

“You’re in luck,” she says. “He just left about fifteen minutes ago. He usually goes to the coffee shop next door for a while.”

Damen feels like he could kiss this woman in thanks, but settles for shaking her hand excitedly before hurrying back outside. He spots Laurent’s blond head as soon as he walks into the coffee shop. It’s a bright spot against the warm wood tones on the walls.

He stops next to Laurent’s table, hesitating.

Laurent doesn’t look from his book as he says, “That seat is taken.”

Damen looks at the empty seat across from Laurent. “By who?” he asks.

Laurent does glance up then, and his eyes widen as he recognizes Damen.

“Hi,” Damen says. He takes the chance that the seat isn’t actually taken and sits down.

“What are you doing here?” Laurent demands. He closes his book, but holds on to it, knuckles white.

“Well, I was looking for you,” Damen says. “I checked all the libraries in town but they all said you didn’t work there. Then the girl at this one said she knew you and that you hang out here.”

“Are you stalking me?” Laurent asks.

“What? No!” Damen shakes his head. “I’m not, really. I just…” He hesitates, not sure what to say. “I just wanted to see you again.

“Well, now you have. You can leave.”

Damen doesn’t move until Laurent starts putting his book back in his bag and pushing his chair out to stand.

“Hey, wait!” He reaches out for Laurent, wrapping a hand around his wrist.

Laurent yanks his arm away. “If you won’t leave then I will.”

This isn’t going the way Damen wanted it to at all. He’s not sure exactly what he was expecting – Laurent being happy to see him again, maybe – but it wasn’t this. “Sorry,” Damen says. “I know I shouldn’t have just tracked you down like this. But I didn’t have any way to get in touch with you and you said you worked at the library. I just want to talk.”

Laurent doesn’t sit back down. He’s slung his bag over his shoulder and his fingers are white-knuckled on the strap. He shifts his feet, and says, “I don’t have time to talk to you.”

“What if I pay you?” Damen asks.

Laurent shifts his weight again. “To talk?”

“Sure,” Damen says.

Laurent stares at the tabletop, but it looks like he’s thinking about it so Damen doesn’t say anything. Finally he looks back up at Damen and says, “Fine. Come on.”

He spins on his heel and heads toward the door, leaving Damen to hurry after him.

\- - -

The apartment building Laurent leads him to is in a nice part of town, but a bit rundown. His apartment itself is a tiny studio, only big enough for a bed in the corner, a small loveseat and coffee table, and a kitchenette, but it’s neat and clean. Damen shifts from foot to foot, feeling a bit out of place, like he shouldn’t really be here. Like he’s seeing something he shouldn’t.

Laurent pushes the door closed behind Damen and drops his bag on the floor. He holds out a hand. “You have to pay first.”

“Oh, uh, sure.” Damen digs out his wallet and hands Laurent a couple of crisp bills. He’d gone to the ATM before he went looking for Laurent because, well, part of him must have been hoping for this outcome.

Laurent counts the money before leaning down to stick it in his bag. He gestures at the couch. “You can sit. I don’t have a TV or anything but–“

“That’s fine,” Damen says.

Laurent frowns. “I’ll be right back,” he says. “Don’t–” he starts to say, before stopping himself. “Just wait here, I won’t be long.” He disappears through the only door into what must be the bathroom.

Damen’s not sure how long he’s waiting, five minutes at least. He uses to time to look around. There’s a small closet full of clothes, but when he pokes his head in the kitchen he finds it nearly bare. He glances nervously at the door to the bathroom and sits back on the couch, rubbing his palms over his thighs nervously. He takes his coat off, and folds it over the arm of the couch.

Laurent comes back out wearing only a robe. A very short, silk robe.

“Oh,” Damen says. He feels surprised somehow that this is where his encounter with Laurent has gone, but then berates himself for feeling surprised. He’d gone out looking for a hooker, with cash in his pocket, and he’d followed said hooker back to their place. What exactly did he think was going to happen?

“What?” Laurent asks, narrowing his eyes.

“Nothing,” Damen says. “I’m just not sure how this works.”

“The same as last time,” Laurent says.

Like last time, he makes his way across the room to stand in front of Damen, and asks, “What do you want?”

“I… um.” Damen hadn’t actually thought about this. He’s not sure what to ask for. “My roommate was mad at me for moping around the house and told me to go find you again,” he tries to explain.

Laurent frowns. “You told your roommate about me?”

“Not that you’re a– Not everything. Just that I’d hooked up with someone. And about my girlfriend cheating with my brother and all of that.”

Laurent nods, patiently.

“Turns out he already knew. About Jokaste that is, my girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend. He didn’t know she was cheating with my brother though. And I know I said my brother was nice, but actually he’s an absolute asshole. He  _ fired _ me. Kicked me off that Nigerian case I was telling you about and gave it to someone who doesn’t know the first thing about tax evasion. So now they’re probably going to lose the entire thing. I’d spent  _ months _ building that case.  _ Months _ . Then he fucks my girlfriend and fires me? What kind of brother does that?”

Laurent hums sympathetically and asks, “Do you want me to suck your cock?”

Damen stares up at him, stunned into silence. “Oh, uh… yeah. That’d be nice.”

“Okay,” Laurent says, and drops to his knees. His hands are warm on Damen’s thighs, even through the fabric of his jeans, as he nudges his thighs apart and fits himself between them. Laurent leans forward, rubbing his cheek against the inseam of Damen’s jeans, and looks up at him through his lashes. He licks his lips.

Damen’s already half hard, and his cock twitches as he watches Laurent’s tongue. They hadn’t done this last time. They’d fucked, and Laurent had been  _ fantastic _ at that, but they hadn’t done any oral. The anticipation is killing him. He wants to know what Laurent’s mouth feels like. He wants to know if Laurent is as good with his tongue as he is with his hands and his ass. He wants to thrust between his lips and fuck him, come down his throat. Laurent would probably let him, Damen thinks. Jokaste never had. She’d suck him off but wouldn’t swallow, and never seemed that into it. Laurent looks into it. He’s raised his hands to Damen’s fly now, undoing the button and zipper with deft fingers. His hand closes around Damen’s cock, through his underwear, and squeezes.

Damen spreads his knees farther apart, slouching a bit on the couch. Laurent leans in closer, hands sliding around Damen’s waist to the back of his pants, tugging at the waistband of both jeans and underwear. When Damen lifts his hips, Laurent tugs them down his thighs, then further until they’re around his ankles. It feels a bit awkward, with his ankles trapped together and his knees splayed wide, but Laurent doesn’t seem to mind leaning over the clothing. He runs his hands up Damen’s now bare thighs, then circles one hand around the base of his cock, squeezing. Damen’s cock swells a bit more.

Laurent’s attention is entirely focused on Damen’s cock. It’s hot, how fixated he is. When his lips finally make contact, it’s to lick a wet stripe up the side of the shaft, making the movement of his hand a slick slide. He stops just under the flared head, to swirl his tongue, before taking the head of Damen’s cock into his mouth and sucking hard, cheeks hollowing.

Damen can’t stop the groan that escapes his lips. The tight heat of Laurent’s mouth is  _ perfect _ . He doesn’t just suck, he uses his tongue in ways that Damen can only describe as wicked. When the tip of his tongue finds the slit of Damen’s cock and trails across it, Damen throws his head back, his hand lifting from the couch to Laurent’s head, fingers tangling in his hair. “Oh god,” he gasps out.

Laurent starts to pull back, and Damen looks down at him to find his eyes open, staring forward, then he closes them and sinks further down onto Damen’s cock, nearly choking himself before he pulls back. Damen eases his fingers out of Laurent’s hair, and just rests his palm on Laurent’s head. Maybe he didn’t like having his hair pulled.

Laurent is nearly deep throating Damen now, taking him in as far as he can and then sucking hard as he pulled back to just the head, before doing it again. He shifts a bit on his knees, bringing the hand that was resting on Damen’s hand up to cradle his balls. Damen wants to thrust into his mouth, and his thighs are trembling with the effort to hold himself still, to let Laurent set the pace. There’s a tight heat building in his gut, growing stronger with each swipe of Laurent’s expert tongue over him.

Laurent eases back to just suckle on the head of his cock, then his tongue dips into the slit again, and that’s it for Damen, he’s gone. He’s coming, and coming hard, body curving forward over Laurent, and the only warning he manages is another gasped out, “Oh!”

Laurent takes him further in as he comes, so that he’s shooting down his throat, and strokes him through it. He’s swallowing around him, and doesn’t stop until Damen feels wrung-out and over sensitive, using the hand on Laurent’s head to push him away.

He slumps back onto the couch, panting for breath, and watches Laurent try to catch his own breath, on his knees.

“That…” Damen doesn’t have the words. “You’re amazing.”

Laurent looks up at him. He swipes a hand over his mouth, then wipes it on the edge of his robe. “Thanks,” he says. His voice is just a bit hoarse.

“Come here,” he says, reaching down to help Laurent up.

Laurent takes his hand, and perches himself on Damen’s thigh. Damen tucks a strand of hair behind his ear, and leans up to kiss him. He can taste himself on Laurent’s tongue.

When his hand slides down Laurent’s front, to reach under the robe, he’s expecting to find Laurent hard. He had been, last time they’d had sex. Damen would be, if he’d been giving someone a blow job like that. Laurent is only halfway there though, and tenses at the touch.

“What do you want?” Damen asks, resting his hand on Laurent’s thigh instead.

“Whatever you want to do,” Laurent says.

“I want to make you feel good,” Damen tells him. “But only if you want me to.”

Laurent is taller than him, sitting on his lap like this, and looks down at him with an unreadable expression. He looks up, over Damen’s shoulder, and then says, “You’ve got twenty minutes left. There’s time for you to fuck me if you want.”

Damen laughs, bemused. “I think we’d need more than twenty minutes. We can just talk. Or sit here. Or I can leave. Whatever you want.”

Laurent looks back down at him. “Whatever I want.”

Damen nods.

Laurent is still, and silent, sitting stiffly on Damen’s lap. He’s acting like he doesn’t even know how to respond to the question. But surely someone has asked Laurent what he wants before, has done what– Maybe not though, Damen thinks. Laurent’s in the business of pleasing other people, so maybe he’s  _ not _ used to being pleased himself.

Damen carefully places his hands on Laurent’s waist, and lifts him off his lap, setting him on the couch. Laurent makes a small noise, eyes going wide, but Damen lets him go, standing up so that he can pull his pants back on. He debates leaving, like he’d offered to, but he honestly doesn’t want to. He wants to get to know Laurent better.

He sits back down, leaving space between them on the couch, and glances around the apartment again. There’s no TV, but there is a bookshelf, brimming with books that look well-worn. So he asks, “What kind of books do you like?”

Laurent makes a small, questioning sound.

Damen gestures at the bookshelf. “You said you spend most of your time at the library, so you must like to read.”

“Yes,” Laurent says. 

“What kinds of books?”

Laurent’s biting his lip now. “Um… Non-fiction, mostly.”

“No fantasy novels?” Damen asks. Those are his favorite, when he does read something.

Laurent shakes his head. “I like things about real people. Or history.” Then he launches into a summary of the book he’s reading right now, and Damen finds himself rapt. Not because he’s actually interested in the memoir, but because Laurent gets animated, the more he talks about it. His hands raise, gesturing as he speaks, then he seems to realize what he’s doing and stops, lowering them to his lap again, his cheeks heating a bit. “It’s not that interesting though.”

“You’re interested in it,” Damen says.

Laurent shrugs.

“So do I have to go stalk you at the library to find you again, next time?” Damen asks. “Or go back to the hotel?”

“I don’t actually work out of hotels,” Laurent says. “It’s too conspicuous.” 

“What do you do then?”

“I have an instagram,” Laurent says.

Damen stares at him. “Instagram?” he asks. “That seems dangerous though. There are a lot of perverts online.”

Laurent tilts his head at him. “As opposed to the perverts in hotel bars?” Before Damen can respond, Laurent says, “Some of them only want pictures, anyway. And it’s better than a street corner, wouldn’t you say?”

“Is a street corner your other option?” Damen shies away from that thought. He doesn’t like to think of Laurent out on the street. But he thinks it was a joke, anyway, and Laurent is rolling his eyes. “Well, how do I contact you?” he asks.

“Are you that determined to become a regular?”

He supposes that he is. “Do you have a phone?”

“Of course I have a phone,” Laurent says, but he doesn’t offer the number up.

“Can I call you then?” Damen asks.

Laurent holds out his hand. “Give me yours.” Damen unlocks his phone and hands it over. Laurent starts entering his contact information. “Phone calls only,” he says. “No texting. Texting is easy to trace.”

“Okay,” Damen says.

“And I’m busy this weekend. Call me on Tuesday morning.”

“Okay.”

Laurent hands the phone back, and Damen glances at the screen. He’s saved his name as just  _ L _ .

Laurent stands up then, arms crossed over his chest, and says, “Your time is up.”

“Oh,” Damen says. He glances over his shoulder at the clock, but he hadn’t looked at it when they started so the time doesn’t mean much to him. It doesn’t feel like a full hour has passed, but he trusts Laurent. “Alright,” he says, standing up. He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Um, thank you. For listening. And for the, uh… blow job.”

Laurent’s lips are pursed, but he says, “You’re welcome.”

“I’ll call you Tuesday.”

“Not before,” Laurent says.

“Right,” Damen says. “Talk to you then.”

Laurent nods, and kind of gestures at the door with his shoulder. Damen takes the hint and heads out. When he’s alone in the hallway he takes a deep breath, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking down at the threadbare carpeting and flickering fluorescent lighting.

“What the fuck are you doing, Akielos?” he mutters to himself.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've caught up to what I had written ahead, so while I have everything plotted out updates probably won't be weekly from here on. Sorry!
> 
> TW for this chapter: dubious consent, controlling behavior regarding food and money. See end notes for more spoilery warnings.

Laurent always answers calls from unknown numbers. It makes sense, in his line of business. He never knows who his uncle might have given his contact info out to, and the one time he tried not answering and letting them all go to voicemail, like a normal person, he’d gotten a sharp reprimand from his uncle and a cut in his pay for two weeks for missing important business calls. So when his phone rings at nine o’clock on Tuesday morning, he answers, and it takes him a second to realize that the person calling is Damianos Akielos.

“You said to call you on Tuesday,” Damen says.

“Oh, yes,” Laurent says. “I did.” He’d thought Damen might forget though, or move on with his life in the meantime. Apparently not.

“Is this still a good time?”

Laurent looks around his empty kitchen, and down at the mug of tea and slice of toast he’d fixed for breakfast. “As good as any,” he says.

“I, um, wanted to see you again,” Damen says. “If you’re free.”

“When?”

“Whenever works for you. My schedule is still pretty wide open. My brother hasn’t given me a new case yet.” Damen sighs deeply, his breath blowing over the phone line. “I’m starting to think he really did fire me, and is just too much of a coward to say so.”

Laurent puts the phone on speaker and switches over to his calendar app. He’s got a standing dinner with his uncle on Wednesday evenings, and that usually results in a job for the weekend. But he’s technically free everyday this week. “I’m free tonight,” he says.

“Oh!” Damen sounds surprised. “Okay. Should I, uh, come to your place again?”

“Do you remember how to get here?” Laurent asks.

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Then yes. Nine o’clock.” That gives Laurent ten hours to do… something, with his day. He has no idea what.

“Okay,” Damen says. “See you then!”

“Bye,” Laurent tells him, before hanging up. He saves the number in his contacts with just initials.

He takes a sip of his tea, which has gone cold, and wonders if he should tell his uncle Damen is still calling him. It’s not like Damen is on whatever case his uncle was interested in anymore, so there’s no information to gather. Damen’s useless now, except as a source of easy money for Laurent – he hadn’t even wanted to have sex last time, he’d only wanted a blow job. He’s one of the few clients that pays Laurent directly and doesn’t go through his uncle, which means Laurent can pocket all of the money he makes off him instead of just the percentage his uncle decides to give him.

Maybe Uncle won’t care if Laurent keeps seeing him.

\- - -

Damen turns up at nine o’clock on the dot, and when Laurent opens the door he holds up a large bag of take-out and says, “I hope you like Thai food.”

Laurent stares at the bag. “You brought dinner.”

“Yeah,” Damen says. “Have you eaten already? You can just put it in the fridge if you did. But I just thought, in case you haven’t…”

“No, I…” Laurent frowns, still staring at the bag. “Thai is fine.”

“I got mild, since I wasn’t sure if you liked spicy food. But there’s some sauce in there too, in case you do.”

Laurent steps back, so that Damen can come inside. “Um, thanks.”

Damen walks in like he’s comfortable in Laurent’s apartment, but pauses by the couch. “Do you eat on the couch? Or in the kitchen?”

“Couch is fine.”

“Okay, cool.” Damen starts unbagging the food containers onto the small coffee table, moving the book Laurent had left out aside carefully and setting it on the corner of the table. “I also wasn’t sure what you liked, so I may have gotten a bunch of stuff. There’s pad thai and pad see ew and fried rice and potstickers and some thai curry. I normally get the cashew cause that’s my favorite but I wasn’t sure if you were allergic to nuts or not so this doesn’t have any nuts in it. Oh, and tofu. Are you a vegetarian?”

Laurent is watching him lay out the food with a feeling he can’t quite place. He’s had clients take him out to eat before, but the ones who come back to his apartment never… It’s always just about the sex, then. It’s a transaction. He’s never had someone bring him an entire menus worth of take out just because they didn’t know what his preference was.

“Laurent?” Damen asks, standing up straight and looking at him.

“Hmm?”

“Are you a vegetarian?” Damen asks again.

“Oh, no,” Laurent says. “Tofu is fine though.” He looks back at all the food. “You brought way too much.”

“Well, I eat a lot,” Damen says. “And you can keep the leftovers in the fridge. It’ll keep for a few days, so long as you don’t get sick of Thai food.”

Damen smiles at him, that bright smile that shows his teeth and makes his cheek dimple. Laurent can’t help but smile back at him.

Damen wants to talk about his job and his brother again while they eat, but then seems to realize he’s been dominating the conversation and starts asking about what Laurent’s been up to.  _ Fucking other men _ , Laurent thinks, thinking in particular of the unpleasant job his uncle had set up for him last weekend. “Not much,” he says.

Damen’s clearly looking for more of an answer than that, so Laurent says, “I went back to the library again. But the book I’m waiting on isn’t in yet.”

“Which one is it?”

“It’s by a woman who was trying to find a serial killer, but then she died before she could finish the book, so it was published posthumously. They did catch him, though.”

“Because of her?” Damen asks.

“I don’t know,” Laurent says. “I haven’t read the book yet.”

Damen smiles again. “So you like true crime stuff? Do you listen to podcasts too?”

Laurent shrugs, pushing his chopsticks through his noodles. “I like reading more. I always feel like I should be doing something else while I listen to a podcast.”

“True crime and mysteries though?”

Laurent tries to think of how to describe what he likes about the crime books. “I like seeing how they put a case together, how they catch whoever did it.”

Damen’s still smiling at him. “You like it when they catch the bad guys.”

“I guess,” Laurent says.

“Those are the kind of lawsuits I like too,” Damen says. “I like helping people. We don’t get too many cases like at the firm though, it’s mostly corporate stuff.”

“Why do you stay there then?” Laurent asks. He picks through his noodles until he finds a piece of chicken and takes a bite.

Damen had just taken a bite as well, and finishes chewing before he says, “It’s the family business.”

Laurent looks down at his food. Family business. He supposes that’s what he does as well, in a way.

Damen’s finished with his food, and sets the empty container down next to all the untouched ones scattered across the coffee table. Laurent’s only eaten half of his own, but sets it down as well.

“Do you want to fuck now?” Laurent asks.

Damen looks startled. “You, uh…” His eyes dart around the room, nervous. “You haven’t finished eating.”

“I’m full,” Laurent lies. He stands up. “Wait here, I’ll get the lube.” He steps over Damen’s legs to get past him, and says over his shoulder, “Oh, and I got you some of those mail order condoms.”

He hadn’t mail ordered them. He’d actually just gone to the sex shop and picked up their biggest size this afternoon. But Damen laughs at the shared joke, and it turns out that joking is the right tone to set tonight. It loosens Damen back up, and Laurent rides him on the couch, hips working over Damen’s lap in a rhythm so familiar Laurent can get lost in it and not have to feel anything, for a while. Until he does, because Damen’s touching him, breath hot against his ear as he tells Laurent to come, come for him, that’s he’s so good and it’s okay and to let go. His hand on Laurent is big enough to span his entire hip, but gentle, supporting him instead of forcing him to move, and Laurent’s still not sure why Damen  _ cares _ so much whether or not it’s good for Laurent too. But he does, and his hand on Laurent’s cock is firm but not rough. He watches Laurent’s face to see what he likes. And when Laurent comes it’s with his face buried against Damen’s neck, saying his name.

Rather than keep fucking him, Damen lets Laurent flop backwards onto the couch beside him, and then sprawls back against the cushions, legs wide, taking the condom off and fisting his own cock until he’s coming onto his stomach.

Laurent stares at him. “You didn’t–“ he starts to say, but isn’t sure how to finish the sentence.  _ Didn’t finish fucking me? Didn’t come inside me? Didn’t make me finish you off? _

Damen looks over at him and says, “You are amazing.”

Laurent just stares back at him.

It’s not until later, after they’ve cleaned up and Damen has helped him put away all the leftovers and is preparing to leave, that Damen hands him several crisp bills, fresh from the ATM. Laurent blinks at the money, slow to reach out and take it. He’d forgotten to ask up front, he realizes. He’d been distracted by Damen bringing food with him.

He never forgets to ask up front.

“Is that the right amount?” Damen asks. “I have some more.” He starts to pull his wallet back out.

Laurent counts it, and looks at the clock. He tries to hand Damen back one of the bills.

“No, keep it,” Damen says. 

“It’s too much,” Laurent tells him.

“Think of it as a tip, then.”

Laurent frowns, but he’s not going to argue with free money. 

“Can I see you again this weekend?” Damen asks, as he shrugs on his coat.

“Um, maybe,” Laurent says.

“When should I call?”

Laurent will know tomorrow if his uncle has a job for him this weekend or not, so he says, “I’ll let you know Thursday if I’m free or not.”

“Okay,” Damen says. He looks like he’s going to give Laurent a kiss goodbye, but then he just says, “I’ll see you later then,” and is finally gone.

\- - -

Wednesday night’s mean dinner with Uncle. Laurent’s not sure why his uncle picked Wednesday, except that it had always seemed to be a slow day at work when Laurent was younger, so perhaps it still is. He’s not allowed to go to the office anymore. Anyone there who did know him thinks he’s away at college – which is a laugh, since Laurent barely graduated from high school – and his uncle’s newer business associates only know him as the prostitute that Uncle arranges for them. They don’t know that he’s his nephew.

Uncle isn’t at the front of the restaurant when Laurent arrives. Laurent has to tell the hostess he’s meeting someone, and gives his last name, which she responds to with a bored look and a simple, “You can go take a look to see if they’re already seated.” He feels like people are staring as he wanders around this fancy restaurant, searching for his uncle, and straightens his shoulders. He finds him a table in the back, and slides into the seat without even taking his coat off.

Uncle raises an eyebrow. “Are you cold?” he asks.

Laurent is, actually. The table is right next to a drafty window. But he unbuttons his coat and shrugs it off, letting it drape over the back of his chair. 

Uncle purses his lips. “Couldn’t you have worn something nicer?”

Laurent’s dressed in slacks and a blue button down. It’s the nicest thing he owns, aside from a suit that he wears when he gets a job that requires attending a formal event. “Buy me nicer things and I’ll wear them next time,” he says.

“What are you spending your money on, since it’s obviously not clothing?” Uncle demands to know.

“Food, rent, utilities…” Laurent says. “The necessities.”  _ Lube, condoms, STD testing, _ he doesn’t say. And trying to save enough money for a nicer apartment.

“I know how much your rent is,” Uncle says.

_ Because your name is on the lease _ , Laurent thinks. Not even his apartment is his own.

“You have plenty left to afford nice clothing,” Uncle continues.

Uncle knows exactly how much money Laurent has, and exactly how little he has to spend on things like the designer shirts that Uncle deems  _ nice _ , because he’s the one doling out the cash. “Yes,” Laurent says. “I must be spending too much on fancy coffee.”

The waiter appears before Uncle can reply to that. Uncle orders a bottle of wine, and then places his own appetizer and entree order. The waiter looks to Laurent.

“I haven’t had a chance to look at the menu,” Laurent says, reaching for it.

“He’ll have the caprese salad and whatever the fish of the day is,” Uncle says.

“No,” Laurent says. “I want pasta.”

Uncle snatches the menu out of his hand and holds it out to the waiter. “Bring him the fish.”

Once the waiter’s gone, he says, “Pasta will make you fat, Laurent. I do hope you’re eating healthy, now that you’re living on your own.”

Laurent sits back in his chair and crosses his arms. “What did you want to talk about, anyway?”

“I heard you met with Damianos Akielos again,” Uncle says, getting straight to the point.

Laurent shrugs. “He called me. He’s still on the rebound from his girlfriend cheating on him.”

“And what did he tell you about the case?”

“Nothing more than what I told you the first time,” Laurent says. “He got kicked off, so he’s not working on it anymore. He’s not going to have anything useful for you.”

“It’s not for you to decide what’s useful and what’s not,” Uncle tells him.

“He didn’t even talk about work last time.”

“Keep seeing him. Make sure he talks next time.”

Laurent glances out the window, but nods. He doesn’t like being ordered to continue seeing Damen, but can’t put his finger on why not. Damen’s just a job.

The wine arrives then, along with their appetizers, and Uncle makes a show of tasting it and giving it a considering look before nodding his approval. The waiter pours a glass for Laurent as well, but he doesn’t reach for it. He does dig into the appetizer though, because whatever else he’s hungry and it’s hard to go wrong with cheese.

Uncle takes a few bites of his own dish, and they eat in silence for a few minutes. Then Uncle wipes his mouth delicately with his napkin before asking, “How was the job with Van Tuss, last weekend?”

Van Tuss is an old business partner of Uncle’s, and he’d wanted to tie Laurent up, which is against Laurent’s rules. He’d only gotten out of it by agreeing to a roleplay that he was still trying to forget about.

“It was fine,” Laurent says.

“He was very complimentary,” Uncle says.

Laurent doesn’t say anything, just shrugs.

Their entrees arrive. The fish is accompanied by an olive tapenade that Laurent picks at. He doesn’t actually like olives, and Uncle knows that. The fish itself is good though, and he  _ is _ hungry. He finishes first, since there’s nothing to do but eat in the face of Uncle’s silence. Then he sits back, staring out the window at the cars passing by on the street. Uncle seems content not to talk to him and focus on his meal.

“How’s Nicaise?” Laurent finally brings himself to ask. The boy is usually tagging along after Uncle to dinners like these, but Laurent hasn’t seen him in at least two weeks. He doesn’t want to admit to missing him, but at least Nicaise keeps the conversation going.

“Indisposed,” Uncle says.

Worry spikes hard through Laurent’s stomach. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing serious,” Uncle says. “But he’s come down with a nasty case of the flu. He’s basically under quarantine until he’s no longer contagious.”

“The flu,” Laurent says. He wonders if it really is the flu, or some other illness or injury keeping Niciase stuck at home.

Uncle nods. “Nasty business. Be glad he doesn’t seem to have passed it on to anyone.” He takes another bite of his food, then sets his cutlery aside and wipes his mouth. “You haven’t even touched your wine,” he comments.

“I have a headache,” Laurent says.

Uncle sighs. “You should have told him not to pour then, rather than let it go to waste like that.”

“Sorry.”

Uncle shakes his head. But then he pulls out his wallet and takes out a few crisp bills, sliding them along the table. “Here’s your cut for Van Tuss. He was quite pleased with whatever you did. He wants to see you again next Saturday.”

Laurent wants to say no. He desperately, desperately wants to say no.

“Is there anyone else?” he asks, pocketing the money.

Uncle’s expression is firm. “No.”

“Damen might want to–”

“Van Tuss is a long standing business partner, Laurent. We do need to keep in his good graces. You’ll have time for Damianos another night.” He laughs. “And honestly, when did he gain a nickname?”

“He likes me to call him that.”

“Well, whatever he likes, I suppose,” Uncle says. “You’re to meet Van Tuss at his apartment, seven o’clock sharp.”

Laurent just nods, then stands up, pulling his coat on. “Thank you for dinner, Uncle” he says.

Uncle waves him off, and Laurent tries to walk away at a steady pace, rather than the quick run he’d much rather fall into.

\- - -

Laurent waits until late Thursday morning before taking the bus over to his old neighborhood and then walking to Uncle’s house, to be sure he’s gone to work. It’s the same house Laurent had lived with him in until two years ago. The same light grey paint and dark shutters. The same boxy shrubs with no flowers. There’s a new crack in the driveway, along the sidewalk.

Laurent still has a key, and lets himself in the front door. Inside, the house is quiet and dark. It’s as clean as ever, not even a speck of dust in the front sitting room that he knows Uncle never uses.

He heads upstairs, past his old bedroom – the door is shut – and towards what used to be a guest room at the end of the hall. He knocks before he tries the doorknob. “Nicaise?” he calls. “It’s just me.”

The door isn’t locked, and when he opens it he finds a room even darker than the hallway had been, the curtains drawn tightly shut. It’s more cluttered in here though, the hamper overflowing and a mess of trinkets on top of the dresser. “Nicaise?” he asks again.

There’s a grunt from the bed. “Leave me to die in peace,” Nicaise moans.

Laurent sits down on the edge of the bed and pulls the blanket away from Nicaise’s face. “You’re not going to die.”

Nicaise rolls over and coughs on him. “Now you can die too.”

Laurent rolls his eyes and rests his hand on Nicaise’s forehead. He’s burning up. “Did you take anything?”

“Tylenol, I think,” Nicaise says. “But then I threw it up.”

There’s no medicine in sight, so Laurent tries looking in the bathroom down the hall for a thermometer. The medicine cabinet only has an array of painkillers and bandaids. He finally finds one under the sink, and rinses the dust off it before bringing it back to Nicaise. “Here, it’s old so it goes under your tongue. You can’t talk with it in either.”

Nicaise glares at him the entire the thermometer is sticking out of his mouth, and Laurent uses the rare silence from him to go look for some more tylenol. When he comes back Nicaise has taken the thermometer out and is turning it over in his hand. “How do you even read this?” he asks.

Laurent takes it from him and turns on the lamp so he can see. Nicaise winces at the light.  _ 101.2. _

“Take some more of the tylenol,” Laurent tells him. “Maybe you should take a cold bath too.”

Nicaise balks at that. “No, I’m freezing.”

“Only because you have a fever.”

“You go take a bath then.”

Laurent stares at him. “I’m not the one with a fever.”

“Well, I’m not taking a fucking bath. You can go away now.”

Laurent sighs. He grabs the tylenol bottle and shakes two of them out, shoving them into Nicaise’s hand. “Take these.”

“I don’t have any water,” Nicaise says. His voice is whiny, but Laurent decides not to point that out for a change, since he’s sick.

He gets Nicaise water, and waits for him to take the pills.

“Are you gonna stand there and watch me sleep now?” Nicaise asks. “Cause that’s creepy, even for you.”

“No, I’m going to go downstairs and read a book, then come give you more tylenol in four hours.”

Nicaise looks away, then glances back him. “Oh. I guess you can do that.”

“Thanks for the approval.”

Nicaise huffs and curls back up under his blankets. “Go away, would you? I can’t sleep with you hovering over me. It’s making me even more nauseous.”

Laurent leaves, but comes back with a bowl from the kitchen that he sets beside Nicaise’s bed. “Don’t puke on the rug,” he says. Nicaise sticks his hand out of the blanket to flip him off.

Laurent winds up downstairs, looking for something to do. He stands in the doorway of his uncle’s office for a long minute, eyeing the bookshelves there, before retreating and going back upstairs to the closed door of his old room. Uncle might notice if something is moved in his office. The bedroom door isn’t locked, and inside everything looks the same as the last time Laurent had been in here. It’s like a time capsule. His old quilt is still on the bed, not even dusty – the maids must come in here to clean.

He heads for the bookshelf. He’d taken most of his books when he’d moved out after high school, and the ones left are all old school books. He winds up sitting on the floor under the window, reading a copy of  _ Hamlet _ that he’d stolen from the school when it was assigned junior year.

His legs have fallen asleep by the time he gets up to give Nicaise his next dose of tylenol, and Nicaise grumbles at him sleepily. “I’ve got to go before he gets back from work,” Laurent says.

Nicaise just looks up at him.

“Keep taking the tylenol every four hours,” Laurent tells him. “And call me tomorrow. If you don’t feel better I’ll take you to the doctor or something.”

“You don’t have a doctor,” Nicaise says.

“Urgent care then,” Laurent says.

Nicaise rolls his eyes. “I’ll be fine. Go away already.”

“You’re welcome,” Laurent says sardonically.

He closes Nicaise’s door behind him, makes sure the door to his old room is shut tight again, and locks up on his way out. The bus is running late, and it’s colder out now than it was earlier. He really just wants to get home.

His phone ringing is a distraction from the cold, and a welcome one once he sees that it’s Damen. “Hi,” he says.

“Hey,” Damen says. “Is this an okay time?”

“I’m just waiting for the bus.”

“Did you go the library again?”

“No,” Laurent says. There’s a pause, where Damen is clearly waiting for him to elaborate on what he did do. But Laurent stays silent.

“Oh, well. Sorry I couldn’t call in the morning, like normal. My friend had a day off and dragged me out of the house. But, uh, are you free?”

“Tonight?” Laurent asks.

“Um…”

Laurent is free tonight, but he can hear the hesitation in Damen’s voice. “Or tomorrow,” he offers. “But not Saturday.”

“Friday’s great,” Damen says. “Same time?”

“Sure.” Laurent can see the bus down the street, so he says, “My bus is here. I have to go.”

“Bye,” Damen says quickly. “See you then!”

Laurent finds himself smiling at Damen’s enthusiasm as he says, “Bye,” and isn’t quite sure why.

\- - -

Laurent’s awoken Sunday morning by his phone ringing, and barely glances to see who’s calling before he answers it.

Damen’s voice is entirely too chipper as he says, “Morning! I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

It’s past ten, but Laurent was out until nearly five. “Sort of,” he admits. He switches the phone to his other hand. His right wrist is sore, and he looks it over carefully, rolling the joint. It looks fine, and there are no marks.

“Oh, sorry,” Damen says. “You said to call you today.”

Laurent had said that. Damen had come over on Friday and fucked him on the couch again – he’d brought Italian this time, a heavy bolognese that made up for missing out on pasta at dinner with Uncle – and then Laurent had been feeling generous and said he was free again on Sunday, even though he knew that would mean three nights working in a row.

_ Why _ had he said that? The last thing Laurent wants to do right now is even be awake, much less setting up another date with someone. Even if that someone is Damen, who’s nicer than everyone else and brings him dinner.

“Are you okay?” Damen asks, when Laurent takes too long to answer.

“I’m fine,” Laurent says, automatically. He just… Last night was unpleasant, and he needs a break. A day off. Uncle usually gives him a couple days after someone like Van Tuss. “I’m, um, not free tonight after all. I’m sorry.”

“Oh,” Damen says. Laurent can hear the disappointment in his voice. He starts to offer something for the next night, but before he can, Damen asks, “Did everything, uh, go alright last night?” 

Laurent’s hand clenches around the phone. He’s never had a client ask about his  _ other _ clients, unless it’s some sort of jealousy thing. Or a kink. Damen sounds like he’s actually… concerned.

“I’m fine,” Laurent says. “I’m just busy tonight. Sorry. Call me on Monday.”

He hangs up then, before Damen can respond, and lets the phone drop down among the sheets.

He shoves his face into his pillow, blocking out the light in the room, and presses it hard enough that colors burst behind his eyelids. Maybe if he just lies like this he can get back to sleep, and stay that way all day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilery TW for this chapter: Laurent has sex with Damen again and still views it as work. Uncle exhibits controlling behavior towards Laurent by dictating what he eats at dinner, making comments about his appearance, and controlling how much money he's allowed to have from "jobs" that Uncle has set up. Laurent thinks about other clients who request things he doesn't want to do but does anyway.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shows up 8 months late with starbucks* Hey y'all! How's it been?
> 
> I have very few excuses for how long this has taken aside from my brain being a wasteland, and the general everything not helping with that. I do still have the entire fic plotted out, so I am planning on finishing. Here's hoping it doesn't take over half a year for the next update. I cannot begin to tell you how much it means to me to have had people still commenting here and even finding me on other platforms to let me know they were interested in this fic. You guys are the best! ❤️❤️❤️

It’s three weeks later when Nikandros stops on his way out the door one morning, eyes Damen standing at the kitchen counter, and asks, “Are you  _ dating _ that rebound guy?”

Damen stops, a forkful of eggs halfway to his mouth, and says, “No.”

“You’re at his place like twice a week,” Nik argues.

Damen sets the fork down. That is true. He calls Laurent on the days Laurent tells him to, and then Laurent says if he’s available that night or the next. He’s usually free on weeknights, but always busy on Saturday and sometimes on Friday. And he usually doesn’t want to see Damen on Sundays – Damen’s not sure if he’s actually busy that night or lying about it, but sometimes people just want alone time so he doesn’t press. Monday and Thursday nights have almost become a regular thing now. Damen takes dinner over, trying to find a different place each time, even though Laurent keeps telling him he doesn’t have to, and then they talk and fuck – usually on the couch but sometimes on the bed – and talk some more.

It does feel a bit like dating someone, except for how they never go out anywhere and it’s costing Damen a small fortune.

“We’re just hooking up,” Damen says.

Nik looks skeptical. “You never just hook up with people.”

“Sure I do. I did that all the time in college.”

“No, you hooked up with them and then stayed in touch and became friends and then never understood why they weren’t getting over you.”

“That’s harsh,” Damen says. “I don’t see why I shouldn’t keep in touch with people.”

Nik sighs. “You just need to be better at setting expectations. Does this guy know it’s just hooking up?”

“Oh, he knows.”

“Well, alright then.” Nik pulls his coat out of the closet and shrugs it on. “Are you seeing him tonight, or do you want to go get drinks?”

“I’ve got a family dinner tonight, actually,” Damen says. He’s been dreading it ever since his step-mom called to invite him.

Nik raises his eyebrows. “Jokaste isn’t going to be there, is she?”

“I hope not,” Damen says. He hasn’t seen her since he’d literally caught her in Kastor’s office, lying on his desk with her skirt around her waist. He can’t imagine facing her again.

Nik presses his lips together, sympathetic. “We can get drinks after,” he offers.

“Thanks. I’ll need one.”

\- - -

The Sunday night dinner that Damen’s step-mom, Minnie, has planned is out at a fancy restaurant. Probably because she hates cooking, but Damen can’t help but feel like it’s also an attempt to keep himself and Kastor from fighting with each other.

He’s running late because he’d been on the phone with Laurent, asking if he can see him tomorrow. Laurent had said yes, and when he’d said “See you at nine,” their usual time, Damen had asked him to meet earlier. He’s been thinking about what Nik said, and how he’d claimed it was only hooking up. It feels like it should be more than that, and he wants to actually take Laurent out somewhere tomorrow. Dinner maybe. Laurent had seemed to like the Italian food Damen had brought over the best, so he could take him out for that.

He’s still thinking about which place would be best when he’s shown to the table by the hostess. Damen’s brought up short when he realizes Jokaste is at the table, seated next to Kastor.

“Nice of you to make it,” Kastor says.

Damen just pulls his chair out and sits, ignoring his brother. “Hi Dad, Minnie. Jokaste,” he adds, tilting his head at her.

Jokaste gives him a tight smile. 

Minnie’s smile is more genuine. “Damen, you look nice,” she says.

Damen hadn’t really dressed up for this, so she’s just saying that to be nice, but he smiles back at her anyway. A waiter appears to take their drink orders, and then they’re left with an awkward silence.

“How’s work?” Damen asks his father.

That keeps Theo and Kastor talking through the drinks being delivered and the waiter taking their food orders. Minnie looks thoroughly bored and Jokaste is checking her phone under the table. It’s not until the food has arrived that Damen gets the chance to ask, “And that new case you promised me? It’s been a month.”

Theo looks to Kastor. “I thought you’d taken care of that.”

Kastor takes a sip of his drink to avoid answering.

“I haven’t been to the office since he took me off the Nigerian case,” Damen says. “If you’ve got something new for me, I’d like to get back to work.” He tries to keep his voice neutral, but can’t help glaring at his brother as he says it.

“I thought you were going back to training,” Kastor says.

Damen stares at him. “Why the hell would you think that?”

Kastor picks up his fork, acting like he’s unbothered by Damen’s agitation. “Well, you never came back into the office. How was I supposed to know you wanted a new case?”

Damen stares at him. Kastor just takes a bite of his food. “You told me not to come in!”

“Boys,” Theo says. He looks at Damen. “I’m sure Kastor was just waiting for you to come in to give you a new case.”

Kastor nods. “It’s been nearly a month now though. Everyone thinks you’ve quit.”

“You fired me!”

“I did not!”

“You told me to go home and think of it as a vacation and that you’d call when you had a new case for me. And then you never called.”

Kastor frowns. “Well, you never called me either.”

Damen stares at him, incredulous. “Maybe I didn’t want to talk to you after you fucked around with my girlfriend.” He gestures at Jokaste, who has been concentrating on her own dish this entire time. 

She looks up at him, lips pinched together. “There’s no need to be crass,” she says.

Damen shakes his head, taking a long sip of his wine. He’s definitely going to need that drink with Nik after this.

“We can find a new case for you,” Theo says. He looks at Kastor. “Find one tomorrow.”

“Sure,” Kastor says, nearly rolling his eyes.

Damen fumes silently. They’re treating him like a charity case now, and that’s the last thing he wants. The entire point of going to work for his father’s firm was to learn the business so that he was in position to make partner there one day, to take over things, but it’s clear now that Kastor’s been waiting to force him out, and this entire incident has just made Damen look like a demanding child. 

“Thanks, but I don’t need a new case, Dad,” Damen says. “I’ve been looking at some other firms, actually.” He hasn’t. He’s been spending most of his time at the gym or watching TV or with Laurent, since it’s not as though he has to work for money; the trust fund his grandfather left him is more than generous. A little white lie about job hunting won’t hurt though, and he can certainly start looking tomorrow and find a new job without his father’s help.

Kastor gestures at him. “See, you’ve got a new job anyway. Why yell at me about it?”

Theo ignores him. “Where at?”

Damen rattles off the names of a few smaller law firms that he knows. “I’m still just talking with them.”

His dad asks if he’s sure he doesn’t want to come back to work at the family firm, and Damen reiterates that yes, he’s fine on his own. “I think it will be good to get some other experience,” he says. “We can revisit me working for you later.”

“Well, now that that’s sorted out,” Minnie says. She turns to Kastor with a smile. “You said you had some news, honey?”

Kastor sets his fork down and nods. “ _ We _ have some news,” he says, wrapping one arm around the back of Jokaste’s chair.

Jokaste smiles at him, lacing her fingers together with his on top of the table. She turns the smile on Theo and Minnie.

There’s a sense of dread building in Damen’s stomach.

“We’re pregnant,” Jokaste says brightly.

Minnie claps her hands, then stands up to give Jokaste a hug, followed by Kastor. “Oh that’s so exciting! A grandbaby!”

Theo looks less excited by the prospect, but stands up to give Kastor a back-slapping hug.

Then Minnie asks the question, “How far along are you?” and Damen realizes with a sick twist in his stomach that it’s entirely possible Jokaste’s baby isn’t Kastor’s.

“Just three months,” Jokaste says. “It’s still early.”

Damen was still sleeping with her three months ago. 

He stands up, and then when everyone looks at him, says, “Sorry,” and gestures towards the back of the restaurant. He beats a hasty retreat towards the restrooms, and stands in front of the sink, staring at himself in the mirror.

Jokaste is pregnant. Jokaste is  _ pregnant _ and it might be  _ his _ but it also might be  _ his brother’s _ . This is… too much. He can’t even think of what to do next, of what to say when he goes back out there. He can’t say congratulations. But he also can’t demand to know how she’s sure it’s Kastor’s baby in the middle of a crowded restaurant.

He pulls his phone out, and considers sending her a text, then shoves it back in his pocket. He runs his hands through his hair, then looks in the mirror and realizes that’s made him look a bit crazed. He runs some water over his hair to smooth the curls down.

He pulls his phone back out and texts Nik:  _ Gonna need a really strong drink _ . Then he steels himself to go back out there, and makes a flimsy excuse about not feeling well.

“Do you want the rest of your food to go?” Minnie asks him.

“No, thanks,” Damen says. “I’m fine. Just… stomach issue, you know. Gonna head home.”

They all know he’s lying, but no one calls him out on it.

He spends the rest of the evening getting very, very drunk at a bar with Nik, and at some point winds up texting Laurent to tell him the whole story in a series of increasingly misspelled messages. He doesn’t get a response back before he collapses into bed and passes out for the night.

\- - -

The next morning Damen wakes up with a horrible hangover. Nik’s already gone to work, and Damen feels bad that he’s probably hungover too but doesn’t have the luxury of staying home in bed.

It’s not until late morning that he drags himself out of bed and into the shower, and then makes a new pot of coffee. As it brews he checks his phone.

The first notification says in bold letters  _ Jokaste’s Bday - Next Monday _ and Damen stares at it for a long minute, before remembering  _ why _ he’d set an alert a week early for her birthday. He’d booked a weekend getaway to a ski lodge and was planning to surprise her. With everything that’s happened, the vacation had completely slipped his mind.

He checks his calendar. The flights are there, leaving this coming Friday morning and returning late Sunday evening.

“Shit,” he mutters.

The coffee finishes brewing, and he pours a mug before going to find his laptop so he can try and actually deal with this. After an hour on hold with the airline, he’s been told the flights are non-refundable due to the discount he’d used when booking but could be changed to another date, for a change fee. Another thirty minutes tells him that the room at an all-inclusive resort he’d booked is also non-refundable, and  _ can’t _ be changed to another date.

Maybe he can take Nik. Nik likes skiing.

He sends him a text: _Want to go skiing this weekend?_  
Nik is quick to reply: _Get a job._

Damen texts him an explanation, and Nik eventually says sorry, but he’s in the middle of a case and can’t just take off.

_ Take your new boyfriend, _ Nik texts.

There’s an idea. Damen wonders if Laurent would say yes. He wonders if he’ll have to offer to pay for his time, as well. Maybe Laurent has some kind of vacation companion rate.

\- - -

Damen takes Laurent out for dinner that night – a surprise, he can tell, but Laurent seems happy about it – and tries broaching the subject.

“You…” Laurent is staring at him, still holding his fork in his hand. “You want me to go on vacation with you?”

“It’s just for the weekend,” Damen says. “I already had the whole thing booked over a month ago, to surprise my ex, and it turns out it’s non-refundable. So you’d be doing me a favor, really. It’s just going to look sad if I show up at a ski lodge by myself.”

Laurent’s not quite frowning, but nearly so. “Skiing,” he says.

“Have you been before?”

“Not since I was little,” Laurent says. “My brother used to–” he cuts himself off.

Damen smiles at this little tidbit of information about Laurent’s personal life. “You have a brother?”

“Had,” Laurent says. He looks down, hand smoothing over the tablecloth.

“Oh. I’m sorry,” Damen says. He wants to reach over and take Laurent’s hand, but it doesn’t look like Laurent would welcome the touch right now.

“It was a long time ago,” Laurent says. “Tell me more about this trip.”

Damen fills him in on the details, ticking off all the bullet points from the resort website about amenities in an effort to sell Laurent on it. “So if you don’t want to ski, there’s still other stuff to do.”

Laurent still looks hesitant.

“I’ll pay for everything,” Damen says. “And, whatever you want for your time. So you don’t have to worry about that.”

“It’s not that,” Laurent says. “I just… Can I let you know tomorrow?”

“Of course,” Damen says.

They finish dinner, and Damen walks Laurent back to his apartment. Laurent starts to lead the way inside the building, but Damen grabs his hand to pull him back. “I’m gonna head home,” he says.

Laurent blinks up at him, expression completely confused for a moment before he smooths it out. “You don’t want to come upstairs?”

“I’m still kind of wiped from overdoing it last night,” Damen says. Which isn’t quite true, but he kind of likes that they went out to dinner, and that he’d gotten to walk Laurent home and can kiss him goodbye on the doorstep. It feels… right, to do it this way tonight. “Think about the trip though, and let me know.”

“I will.”

Damen leans down and kisses him then, one hand cradling Laurent’s cheek and the other on his hip. Laurent leans into it, mouth opening under his, and makes a slight sound in his throat as Damen’s tongue licks over his.

Damen pulls back, and steps away, smiling at Laurent. “Call you tomorrow night?” he asks.

Laurent licks his lips before answering, “Okay.”

\- - -

Laurent says he can come on the trip, and laughs over the phone at Damen’s excited yell.

“I’m awful at skiing,” Laurent warns.

“I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

Laurent was downplaying his skill at skiing. He’s not great at it, but he’s also not a total novice. Damen takes him on the beginner slopes right after they arrive – after a stop at the resort shop to buy some gear because Laurent had only brought a peacoat – and Laurent handles them fine. After their second run, Damen’s about to ask if Laurent wants to try the intermediate slope but stops before he says anything. Laurent has shoved his goggles up and is wiping at his nose with his glove. His cheeks are ruddy and the tip of his nose is pink. And his expression, for just an unguarded moment, looks exhausted.

“Having fun?” Damen asks.

Laurent turns to him, squinting against the sun reflecting on the snow. “Oh, um.” Laurent looks like he’s going to say yes for a moment, but then he bites his lip and looks apologetic before saying, “No, actually. I’m sorry,” he hurries to add. “I just… don’t like skiing. I never have.”

“Yeah, you look kind of miserable,” Damen says, smiling gently at him. He pulls off his glove and reaches out to push some of Laurent’s hair off his forehead and tuck it back under his hat. “We can go back in if you want. There’s stuff to do in town.”

“You came here to ski, though.”

Damen does love the physical activity, and there’s nowhere to do this kind of thing near home, but he doesn’t want to make Laurent do something he doesn’t want to. “I don’t want to do it if you hate it.”

Laurent looks away for a moment. It gives Damen a nice view of his profile, and gives him a moment to just look without Laurent demanding to know if there’s something on his face. Then Laurent turns back and takes Damen’s hand, holding it between his own gloved ones. “Why don’t you keep skiing,” Laurent says, looking up at Damen through his lashes, “and I’ll go back up to the resort. I’m perfectly capable of amusing myself for an afternoon.” His smile is just a bit mischievous. “And then only one of us will be worn out tonight.”

Damen can feel himself blushing. He hadn’t been thinking about that at all. It takes a moment before he can say, “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds fine.”

He walks Laurent over to the shuttle that goes back to the resort, and gives him a kiss on the cheek before sending him on his way. Then waits for his own shuttle over to one of the more difficult slopes. He doesn’t really want to leave Laurent alone for too long. So maybe just a couple more hours out here, then he can head inside. He’ll be hungry by then anyway.

\- - -

Damen finds Laurent in their room later, after checking a few of the lounge areas with roaring fires on the main floor. “Have you been hiding in here the whole time?” he asks.

Laurent’s curled up in an armchair by the window, feet tucked under him. He holds up the book in his hands; it looks like a romance novel. “The library’s selection here is lacking,” he says.

“What’s that one about?”

“So far? The woman, who is a duchess–”

“Of course.”

Laurent nods. “She’s been abducted by a pirate captain, who she hates. But she also keeps going on about how attractive he is. He’s planning to ransom her back to her wealthy aunt and uncle, but he doesn’t know that they’re destitute because of her uncle’s gambling habit.”

“Sounds like a romance for the ages,” Damen says.

Laurent hums. “She’s very worried about this abduction ruining her prospects with an earl she’s been trying to seduce.” He tucks a piece of paper with the resort logo on it between the pages, smoothing his hand over the cover.

“Oh, so a love triangle then.” Damen leans over the back of the chair, arms circling Laurent’s shoulders, and presses his cheek against Laurent’s head. Laurent’s hair smells like the hotel shampoo. Outside, the sky is painted a bright orange color. The view of the mountains is great from this room, and he spends a moment admiring it and listening to Laurent’s quiet breathing next to him.

“There’s a restaurant here in the lodge,” Damen eventually says, breaking the silence. “We can see what they have for dinner or go into town if there’s nothing good on the menu.”

“Okay,” Laurent says.

“Did you eat lunch?” Damen had eaten a sandwich from a kiosk up on the mountain, so he’s not actually that hungry yet. And every other time he’s had dinner with Laurent it’s been a lot later in the evening than this.

Laurent shrugs. When Damen pulls back a bit to look at him and ask again, he says, “Yes, I did.”

“Well, since we’ve got some time to kill before dinner, I was thinking we could go down to the spa. I walked past earlier and they’ve got those hot stone couples massages. I haven’t had anything but a sports massage in ages.”

Laurent’s shoulders tense under his arms. “A massage?”

“Yeah. Have you had one with hot stones before?”

There’s a pause before Laurent says, “No.”

“It’s nice. Very relaxing. You’ll like it.” Damen lets go of him and steps around the chair to take Laurent’s hand and pull him up from the chair. 

It takes Laurent a moment to straighten his legs out from the pretzel-like position he’s had them twisted them into. When he stands up he leans into Damen, squeezing his hand tighter and sliding his other hand around Damen’s shoulders. “We could stay here,” he says, breath warm against Damen’s neck, “and I could give you a massage.”

Damen tilts his head down to meet Laurent’s eyes, and Laurent raises an eyebrow at him. Damen laughs. “Yeah, I was kind of thinking of an  _ actual _ massage.”

Laurent’s look of affront is overdone. “Are you doubting my massage skills?”

“I would never doubt any of your skills,” Damen says, grinning at him.

“It sounds like doubt,” Laurent says, tone playful. He steps away, towards the large bed that dominates the room. “Come on, take your shirt off and lay down. I’ll show you.”

Damen shakes his head, still amused. “Seriously, Laurent. This is supposed to be a  _ vacation _ . Let’s go downstairs, let the professionals do the work.”

“Now I’m not a professional?”

Damen stills, amusement at the conversation dying abruptly at the reminder that everything about this is  _ work _ for Laurent. It must show on his face, because Laurent frowns.

“What?” Laurent asks.

“I don’t want you to be  _ working _ ,” Damen says, voice too harsh even to his own ears.

Laurent’s expression turns stony, arms crossed as he stands beside the bed. “That’s what you’re paying me for.”

“I know that,” Damen says. Though they hadn’t actually discussed payment for this trip. Damen has covered the cost of everything, and had offered to pay for Laurent’s time, but Laurent hadn’t named a price and hasn’t brought it up again yet. Damen feels awkward mentioning it himself. “ _ Obviously _ , I know that,” Damen says. “But you don’t have to…” He raises a hand, waving it a bit and not sure how to finish.

Laurent stares at him, waiting, arms crossed over his chest.

Damen sighs. “The whole point is that it’s relaxing,” he tries to explain. “You lay down, it’s dark and quiet, there’s some zen music playing, some aromatherapy, someone works out all the knots in your back with some nice scented lotion...”

“Literally nothing about lying in a dark room naked while a stranger touches me everywhere sounds  _ relaxing _ ,” Laurent spits out.

Laurent’s eyes widen, seeming to realize what he’s said, and Damen stares at him, a feeling settling in his gut that makes it clench in on itself.

“I’m–” Damen starts to say, but Laurent interrupts him.

“I mean, it’s just– I haven’t, um, had a massage. Like that. Before. So, I don’t know what it’s like. But, um, what you were… describing… that would be okay.” Laurent smiles tightly, nodding a bit, and lets his arms fall to his sides. “So, we could do that.”

“Laurent,” Damen says, wishing he would stop. He’s never heard Laurent fumble through a sentence like that before. He feels… well,  _ awful _ , for even bringing it up in the first place. He’s been getting massages for years, and always advocated for them when he was working as a trainer, so the idea of being uncomfortable with it hadn’t even occurred to him. But of course some people are. Of course some people don’t want to be touched that way. He hadn’t really thought  _ Laurent _ would object to it so vehemently, given everything else, but…

“What’s the ‘hot stone’ part, exactly?” Laurent goes on. “I just want to know what to expect. That’s all I was worried about. Only because I haven’t done it before. I’m sure it’s very nice.” Laurent smiles again. It’s not his real smile.

“Laurent,” Damen says again. “We don’t need to get massages.”

“Sure we do,” Laurent says. “You want to. And it sounds nice.”

“You don’t think that.”

“Yes, I do,” Laurent insists.

“You  _ just _ said–”

“I told you, I was nervous about it because I haven’t done it before. But now that I know what to expect it will be fine. We should probably go now, though, so that we have time before dinner. How long is a massage anyway?”

“For us? Zero minutes, because we’re not getting one.” 

Now Laurent looks angry again. “Yes, we are. I told you, it’s fine.”

Damen takes a deep breath, trying not to let his frustration at the circles this conversation is going in show. “It’s very clearly not fine.”

“I said–”

“I fucking  _ heard _ what you said,” Damen bites out.

Laurent’s lips are pressed into a thin line, and he’s looking at a spot on Damen’s chest rather than at his face. “I don’t understand why you’ve changed your mind all of a sudden,” he says. 

Damen turns away, raking his hands through his hair and pacing a few steps across the open space in front of the window. “You literally stood there and told me you don’t want a stranger touching you. What part of that is supposed to make me think you want to go do  _ that exact thing _ ?”

“I didn’t mean that,” Laurent says.

“I think it’s the only thing you’ve meant in this entire conversation,” Damen says. “It’s  _ fine _ that you don’t want to.”

“But  _ you _ want to–”

“I can one hundred percent say that I do not anymore. I have never wanted to do something less in my life, believe me,” Damen huffs out a laugh. “But even if I did, I’d never force you to do something you don’t want to.”

Laurent scoffs.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Damen asks. Laurent doesn’t answer, just shakes his head, so Damen asks, “When have I ever forced you to do anything?”  _ Honestly _ , he thinks,  _ if Laurent didn’t want to come on this trip he could have just said so. _

Laurent’s hands are twisting in front of him, fingers twined together. “You– Sorry. I’m just being a bitch,” he says. He looks down, and drops his hands to his sides.

Damen sighs, and walks across the room toward him. Laurent doesn’t move, but when Damen reaches for him he leans in against Damen’s chest, and lets himself be folded into a hug, arms winding around Damen’s back. “I’m the one who’s sorry,” Damen says. “I wish I’d never mentioned getting a stupid massage. It was a dumb idea and I should have asked if you liked them first.” Laurent tucks his face against Damen’s chest, and Damen rests his cheek against Laurent’s hair. “You can always tell me when you don’t want to do something though,” he murmurs. “Just tell me to fuck right off.”

Laurent laughs, just a breathy little sound. “I already told you that about skiing earlier,” he says.

“Well, see,” Damen says. “Just keep on telling me to fuck off when I have bad ideas. I’ll learn eventually.”

Laurent lifts his head, and Damen raises his hands to run them over Laurent’s hair and cradle the back of his head. He leans forward to kiss him, and Laurent closes his eyes, tilting his face up. Kissing Laurent feels just as perfect as it always does, even if this is the first time it’s been a make-up kiss.

“Sorry,” Laurent says again, when Damen pulls back.

“Me too,” Damen says. “What do you want to do tonight? Since my ideas are dumb.”

“They’re not dumb.”

“Yours are probably better.”

“Well,” Laurent says, “probably.”

Damen laughs, leaning in to kiss Laurent again.

“We could just stay in,” Laurent says, after they break apart again. He looks almost nervous about suggesting it. “The room service menu looked pretty good. The restaurant is probably better, though, so we can go there. I just thought, well, we usually eat in. So if you want–”

“That sounds  _ great _ ,” Damen says, emphatically. He’s rewarded with a slight curve to the corner of Laurent’s lips. “We can find a movie to watch. Just hang out here.”

Laurent smiles at that suggestion, and Damen turns away to look for the remote. He leaves Laurent to select a movie, and hunts down the room service menu next.

Laurent picks an old rom-com with Sandra Bullock, which isn’t what Damen was expecting.

“I think I saw this on a date back in high school,” Damen says.

“My mom liked this one,” Laurent says, eyes still on the television screen. He’s settled cross-legged on the bed, knocking the remote against his knee absently.

Damen adjusts a few of the pillows and sits back against the headboard before asking, “Your mom?”

Laurent nods, but doesn’t elaborate. “High school?” he asks, turning to look at Damen. “What did you do with the girls in high school?”

Damen fights a grin. “It wasn’t just girls. And I was very respectful.”

Laurent’s gaze is all too knowing. “Respectful,” he says.

“I picked them up in my dad’s old Toyota, drove the speed limit, had them home before curfew.”

Laurent raises an eyebrow. “Felt them up in the back row of the movie theater?”

“Not on the first date.”

“So it was college that corrupted you,” Laurent says.

Damen laughs. “I was in a fraternity.”

“Oh, well that explains it,” Laurent says airily. He hits play on the movie, and crawls up to sit next to Damen.

It’s on the tip of Damen’s tongue to ask about Laurent’s own high school dates, but something makes him hesitate. Laurent’s thigh is pressed against his, warm through their clothes, and his gaze is locked on the television. Damen settles back into the pillows more comfortably, attention half on the movie and half on Laurent.

Later, after their room service orders have arrived and they’ve eaten picnic style on the bed, Damen is sprawled on his back feeling full and content. Laurent had shaken his head at the bottle of wine Damen had ordered, which just meant that Damen had drunk more than his share and is feeling it. His head is next to Laurent’s hip, and he takes hold of Laurent’s hand, tugging it to his chest and lacing their fingers together.

Laurent looks down. Damen smiles up at him. “Are you even watching this movie?” Laurent asks.

“I’d rather watch you,” Damen says, and is rewarded when Laurent’s face flushes with a hint of a blush.

“Is that the line you used on boys in high school?” Laurent asks.

“I wasn’t quite so suave,” Damen admits.

“Oh, that was meant to be suave?”

Laurent laughs as Damen reaches up and digs his fingers into his ribs, trying to scoot away. Damen winds up pinning him down, hands on Laurent’s wrists, with Laurent breathing heavily under him.

“This position seems a bit risqué for high school you,” Laurent says.

Damen adjusts his legs so that one thigh falls between Laurent’s, and says, “This is probably third date territory.”

“You waited until a third date to get them on their back in bed?”

“Well,” Damen says, hips settling against Laurent’s – they’re both hard in their jeans, but the only other sign of arousal from Laurent is a slight loosening of his other limbs, as he sprawls beneath Damen – “I told you, I was respectful. By a third date you were official. So it was okay to fool around.”

“Fool around,” Laurent repeats.

Damen rubs his nose along Laurent’s cheek, mouth hovering over his as he says, “Making out.”

Laurent’s voice is a bit husky as he says, “Is this meant to be an example? Because if this is what you did in high school you must have had a reputation as a–”

Damen cuts him off with a kiss, which wasn’t entirely unexpected judging by the way Laurent opens his mouth for it. Damen sucks Laurent’s lower lip between his teeth, and spends a few minutes battling for dominance of the kiss. When he pulls away it’s only to prompt, “As what?”

Laurent licks his lips, eyes opening slowly. “What?” he asks, voice soft.

“What kind of reputation do you think I had?”

Laurent shifts. He manages to make it look like he’s only shifting his shoulders while also pressing his crotch more firmly against Damen’s thigh. His mouth twists a bit as he looks up at Damen, considering. “I’m going with jock. But one of the ones who was just good at everything and in every club,” he says. “You were probably in the school play, too, weren’t you?”

Damen isn’t sure he actually wants to admit how close to the mark that is. He kisses Laurent again before saying, “It was a musical, thank you very much.”

Laurent laughs, and something warm inside Damen swells at the sound. He kisses his way down Laurent’s throat, sucking on a spot below his ear that he knows Laurent likes.

“Were you the lead?” Laurent asks, even as he tilts his head for more.

Damen spends a moment leaving a wet trail down to Laurent’s collarbone with his tongue before he says, “You clearly haven’t heard me sing.”

Laurent makes an interested little noise, mouth opening, but Damen kisses him again before he can say anything, and keeps kissing him. Laurent’s hips press up against his again, and this time it’s more purposeful.

Damen knows that Laurent is teasing him, asking about what he did in high school, but it doesn’t change that this actually  _ does _ feel similar, in the moment. The movie playing behind them provides a murmur of background noise with occasional spikes in volume that reminds Damen of hanging out in the basement at one of his girlfriend’s houses, and rutting against each other in jeans is something Damen hasn’t done since college when his sexual encounters had still mostly been fumbling in semi-shared spaces. Plus there’s something about being with Laurent that just makes him feel young and inexperienced, like he’s approaching something new and monumental. Like it’s going to change everything if he lets it.

Laurent comes first, with a sharp inhale where his lips are pressed against Damen’s cheek, and he seems utterly surprised by it, eyes wide.

Damen kisses him again, more gently than the vigorous making out they’d been doing, and Laurent makes a small noise in his throat. Then a moment later he’s pulling away from the kiss, hands reaching for Damen’s fly.

Damen flops over onto his back, unzipping his pants and taking his cock in hand to finish himself off. Laurent is watching him, that same curious expression he always gets when he watches Damen touching himself. Damen closes his eyes, focussing on the sensation, and can still feel Laurent’s intent gaze. It only takes a few more strokes before he comes and makes a huge mess of his pants. He feels boneless in the aftermath, for all that it wasn’t really sex. He feels like he could roll over and pull Laurent into his arms and fall asleep in moments, content right here, like this. Together.

When he opens his eyes Laurent is still staring at him, brow wrinkled just a bit. “What?” Damen asks, smiling at him.

Laurent shakes his head rather than answer. He shifts, grimacing, and asks, “Do you still want to have sex?”

Damen blinks up at him. “Um. Maybe give me a few minutes?”

“I mean,” Laurent says, “if you don’t then I’m going to shower. And try to wash these pants.”

The shift from sexy make-out session to matter-of-fact discussion about plans for sex has Damen reeling a bit. “Okay,” he says.

Laurent gets up, moving gingerly, and strips his jeans off. The room feels colder suddenly, without him pressed against Damen’s side.

Laurent pauses halfway to the en suite, seeming to take pity on him. “It’s a big shower,” he says, “if you want to join me.”

“Okay,” Damen says again, more enthusiastically this time. He nearly stumbles following after Laurent, which earns him a smile and a shake of the head. “Want me to wash your hair?” he offers.

“Absolutely not,” Laurent says, with a toss of said hair. “I have a system. You would ruin it.” He leans against the doorway to the bathroom, smiling coyly as Damen approaches. “You can wash my back though.”

“Just your back?” Damen stops in front of him, and like this Laurent has to tilt his head to maintain eye contact.

“I’ll need to evaluate how thorough you are before deciding on other areas.”

“I can be  _ very _ thorough.”

Laurent slips away from him, into the bathroom, with a sing-songing, “We shall see.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are love! ❤️


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